


Playground Logic

by kaitekat



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, WAFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:16:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitekat/pseuds/kaitekat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the answer to the question that's been niggling at you for vorns can be given by a creature only knee-high. Sam, Mikaela and Annabelle talk life, and Prowl listens. Prowl/Jazz, slight AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. From the Mouths of Babes

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those 'Jazz never actually died, but was just really, really beat up' 'verses. In fact, he was so beat up he couldn't participate in Egypt! Poor thing. Takes place several years in to the future.

After vorns of dealing with the idiosyncrasies of Jazz, Prowl had long since resigned himself to the other's constant presence in his life whenever they were working within commutable distance.

It was not that he didn't appreciate the saboteur; far from it. He was a formidable comrade, with a keen intelligence and a knack of adapting to situations that Prowl, much to his chagrin, lacked. They had always worked well together as enforcers on Cybertron, and Prowl was glad that this organic world had given them the chance to do so again.

He could also make an excellent companion during off-time, when was of a mind to. Jazz tended to have a way about him that could brighten anyone's day with just a smile or a quick word. He was…comforting. Yes, that was the word.

He could also be exasperating. Jazz seemed to delight in finding new ways to surprise or embarrass 'bots, and Prowl seemed to be his favorite target. He seemed to have an infinite pool of pranks and tricks that could put either set of twins to shame, and yet could rarely ever be caught. (Prowl knew it was him, however he had yet to acquire any  _proof_. And that, of course, was the sticking point. One could hardly just point and say 'he did it!' without any proof to back one up. It was hardly professional.)

Despite all this, Jazz tended to stick to Prowl's side, and Prowl really couldn't find it in himself to mind overly much. Even so, he  _still_  didn't really understand why Jazz seemed to have made it his mission in life to find new ways to make Prowl squirm. But then, Prowl had long since decided that that was just the way Jazz was.

He had never expected to find an explanation for his odd behavior amongst the natives of Earth, of all beings.

 

* * *

 

"Boys are  _so_  stupid!"

Eight-year-old Annabelle Lennox stomped in to the human portion of the modified Autobot hanger, dropping her backpack to the cement floor with a loud and exasperated sigh. Mikaela looked up from her perch on one of the two couches with a smile, setting her cards down on the coffee table. Sprawled on the leather couch across from her, Sam threw his own cards down on the table with an overly-relieved exhalation, welcoming the respite from getting his aft handed to him.

"Hey, sweetie." Mikaela greeted, hopping over the couch to give the little blonde scamp a hug. Annabelle returned it willingly, her pouting lips an amusing contrast to the enthusiasm in her grip.

Despite the government not precisely approving of having civilians in a military base (ugly words like 'security breach' and 'unnecessary risks' kept cropping up), Optimus Prime had stood firm on allowing certain human allies access to the base, with Sam (and quite a bit of fast-talking) backing him up.

When the government officials made noises about the cost of ferrying civilians back and forth, several Autobots enthusiastically offered their services, including all of their flyers. The officials backed down after that, but still grumbled about it from time to time.

"Who brought you over?" Sam asked after Mikaela extracted herself. Annabelle paused mid-pout to dimple at him.

"Blades." She chirped. "He even let me steer a little!"

The fact that Annabelle had had most (if not all) of the Autobots wrapped around her little finger since she was three didn't really hurt. It was hard to argue with a twenty-foot alien robot acting like a protective parent who just wanted to see his little girl. Lennox had put up with his daughter being adopted with good humor.

"At least I won't ever have to worry about godparents if something happens to me or Sarah." He'd said with morbid cheerfulness.

As a result, Annabelle tended to spend every other weekend at the base, and as many holidays as she could get away with. Her mother accompanied her more often than not, although she had admitted privately to Mikaela that it was nice to have the house to herself on occasion.

"You literally have an army of willing baby-sitters," Mikaela had teased, "so you might as well take advantage of it!"

"So," the Mikaela of the present asked, rocking back on her heels to regard Annabelle with a cocked eyebrow, "rough week at school?"

The pout returned full-force, and Annabelle heaved a great sigh. "Boys," she repeated, "are  _so_ stupid."

"Hey! I resent that remark!" Sam exclaimed in mock-affront. Both females ignored him.

"Stupid Tommy Lawrence has been bugging me  _all week_." Annabelle explained seriously. Mikaela hid a smile, keeping a properly sympathetic expression. "He follows me  _everywhere_ , and he's  _always_  tugging on my hair, and he's  _always_  saying stupid things, and  _he won't leave me_   _alone_!" The last was almost a wail, and Annabelle kicked fiercely at her backpack. "I just…I just want to beat the  _slag_  out of him!"

Mikaela bit her lip, her eyes dancing. "Has Ironhide been teaching you bad words again?" Annabelle contrived to look innocent.

"I think he's been teaching her a lot more than that, from the sounds of it." Sam muttered.

"Let me tell you something about boys, Annie." Mikaela pulled the fuming girl in to her lap. Annabelle curled up in her embrace, looping her arms around the young woman's neck and snuggling in deep, still pouting. "Boys," Mikaela continued seriously, "have a couple of major defects that tend to mess with their thinking processes."

"Hey! I'm still here, you know!"

"Quiet, Sam." Mikaela ordered, and Annabelle snickered. Sam slouched deep in to the couch, frowning deeply. "One of those defects is how they act around girls. "Especially," and here she tilted up Annabelle's face, examining her with mock-seriousness, "Mmhmm. Just as I thought." She said ponderously.

"What?" Annabelle asked, squirming in her arms.

"Especially," Mikaela said seriously, "very pretty girls like you." Annabelle blushed and giggled, ducking her head against Mikaela's chest.

"Boys must've been  _really_  stupid around you, then." Annabelle said in to her shirt.

"You have no idea." Mikaela said ruefully. Annabelle giggled again. "They did stop for a while when I was a little older than you, though." She added thoughtfully.

"Probably because you punched the biggest of them in the stomach in fourth grade and then told him to stop whining like a baby afterwards."

Annabelle looked over at Sam with wide eyes, and then back to Mikaela. "Really?" She asked.

Sam chuckled. "All the boys in class wouldn't go near her for a  _month_. And even after that, they were always careful not to upset her too much for the rest of the year."

"You too?" Annabelle asked innocently.

"Of course me too. I'm not  _that_  suicidal." This, coming from the man who, at sixteen, had gone on a suicide run to keep an all-powerful artifact out of the hands of a world-conquering megalomaniac, and had done it  _again_ two years later.

"They seemed to forget come next year, though." Mikaela said wryly. She looked down at Annabelle. "No punching Tommy, Annie."

Annabelle pouted up at her. "Why  _not_? You did it!"

"Because if  _you_  did it, your mom would ground you for life, and then she'd come after  _me._ "

"You're not afraid of my mom, are you?"

"Honey," Mikaela said, smiling, " _everyone's_  afraid of your mom."

"Even the Autobots?"

"A good portion of the Autobots have, in fact, stated that they would rather face the entire Decepticon army on their own than an overly upset Sarah Lennox." The three humans turned in surprise at the smooth voice. He was standing inconspicuously in the doorway, as much as a twenty foot black and white alien could be inconspicuous.

"Prowl!" Annabelle exclaimed happily. She wiggled out of Mikaela's arms and rushed headlong at him, throwing her arms around his leg. The tactician stiffened slightly, before bending down to gently touch her back in greeting with a finger, careful not to dislodge her. Annabelle made a pleased sound, twisting around to grab the offered hand.

"Pick me up?" She asked, flashing wide eyes and a bright smile at him. Prowl regarded her solemnly for a moment, before nodding briefly. She squealed as he carefully wrapped his fingers around her waist and lifted her up. He gently set her in the crook of his elbow, and she curled up against him with a content sigh.

Sam let out a low whistle. "Man," he said appreciatively, "Annie's got you 'bots  _whipped_."

Prowl frowned at him. "I'm afraid I don't understand your use of the word." He said slowly. "I have not witnessed Annabelle performing any violent tendencies towards any Autobot." He paused. "At least, not within the last several years, and Ratchet assured us that it was normal at that point in her development to constantly hit and sample any material she could come in contact with, even if it was not to be encouraged."

Sam waved his hand, snickering. Mikaela snorted, shooting him an unimpressed look. "Never mind him, he's just being Sam." That just made Sam snicker harder.

Prowl regarded them both thoughtfully for a moment. "An example of one of the human male's 'defects'?"

Sam choked. "Prowl!" He whined, shooting him with his best accusing eyes. "That's not cool, man. Not cool at  _all_."

"True, though." Mikaela said sweetly.

Sam attempted to regain some of his lost dignity. "So, uh, what brings you to our neck of the woods, Prowl?"

There was a pause as Prowl processed that question. "I was curious," He finally admitted, "about your earlier conversation with young Annabelle."

"Boys are stupid?" Annabelle asked brightly.

"…yes, regarding that." Prowl said dryly. Annabelle giggled, leaning her cheek against Prowl's armor. He looked down at Mikaela. "Do young males of your species truly indicate their desire to mate via such juvenile behavior?"

"Why does it feel like everyone is against me today?" Sam wondered aloud.

"Yes," Mikaela said, shooting Sam a wry grin, "they do. It's pretty normal."

"I fail to understand the logic of such an action."

"It's like this," Sam said, finally pulling himself out of his self-pity, "Boy sees pretty girl. Boy tries to get pretty girl's attention."

"Boy makes an…" Mikaela paused as she shot the interested Annabelle a quick look. "…an  _idiot_  out of himself because he doesn't quite know  _how_ to get her attention."

"That seems rather counter-productive."

"Doesn't it, though?" Mikaela shook her head. "There was this one kid who once built a leaning tower of JELL-O on my desk while I was out of the classroom at lunch. I came back to find it all over my homework and supplies." She laughed. "I was furious, but apparently he was trying to impress me. I don't even remember his name, now."

"Chris O'Neil in sixth grade." Sam said absently. Mikaela blinked at him.

"What, do you remember all of elementary school?"

"Just the parts with you in it." Sam replied. Then he reddened, tugging at his collar. "Uh…"

"…you know I'm not sure if that's creepy or sweet."

"Sweet." Sam said hurriedly. "'Cause you know me. Mr. Sweet. I'm totally sweet and not creepy at all. Nope."

"Right. I'll let you get by with that one." Mikaela said. Sam beamed at her.

Annabelle cocked her head to the side, frowning. "So Tommy likes me?" She screwed up her face. "Yuck."

"In this case, it appears that the desired outcome of wooing young Annabelle has not been achieved." Prowl observed.

Mikaela waved her hand. "Give it a few years." She advised. "These kinds of things take time."

Prowl briefly rebooted his optics in surprise. "Do they? Curious…"

"Why?" Mikaela asked impishly. "Do Autobots act like that too?"

"I hope not." Sam piped up. "That'd mean Sunny and 'Sides are mooning after half the base." He shuddered. "Especially Ironhide. Scary thought."

"Prude." Mikaela slid down beside Sam, nudging him in the ribs. Sam gave her an affronted look.

"Am not! Ironhide's just  _old_."

"Compared to you, Samuel, we are all old." Prowl said reasonably.

"That's different! It's relative. Like, you can't tell me 'Bee's old for you guys."

"So!" Mikaela said with a bright smile. "Why  _are_ you so curious, Prowl? Does Annie's new suitor remind you of someone?"

Prowl regarded Mikaela soberly for a long moment. She did her best to appear at her most innocent. "Perhaps." He finally said.

"What, really?" Sam said. "Who?" He thought for a moment. "Oh, man, I hope it's not Sideswipe. 'Cause that'd just be wrong."

Mikaela exchanged a look with Prowl, and then sighed sadly. "Hopeless." She announced to the room at large. Annabelle giggled.

"What? C'mon, who is it? It's not really Sideswipe, right? 'Kaela…"

"I'm returning to the communications deck." Prowl said. He moved to set Annabelle down, but she shook her head fiercely, clinging to his arm.

"I want to come too!"

Prowl tilted his head at her, and then nodded briefly. "Very well, then."

"Have fun!" Mikaela called after them. "No, Sam, I'm not telling you anything. Stop whining."

"But…!"

 

* * *

 

The world was decidedly  _wet_. Or at least, the doorway to the communications deck was.

Annabelle yelped as the torrent of water nearly washed her out of Prowl's arm. She grabbed at his armor, clinging like a limpet, and it was only due to a quick save on Prowl's part that she remained mostly stationary.

"Sideswipe." Prowl said quietly, water streaming off his armor.

"I didn't see you had a growth attached!" The silver front liner held up his hands as if to ward off Prowl, and then looked down at Annabelle. "I'm sorry, scraplet. Forgive me?" Sideswipe gave her his best puppy-optics.

Annabelle pushed aside her soaked hair with a deep frown. She pointed at Sideswipe with one dripping finger. "Prowl, sic 'im!"

"…I am not a canine, Annabelle."

"Yeah, I know." Annabelle said, craning her neck to look up at him. "But I can't sic 'im 'cause I'm too small, and you're bigger!"

There was a loud crash, and both Prowl and Annabelle turned their attention back to the room. Sideswipe was cursing under his breath fervently. "Language, Sides." A cheerful voice chided. "Don't worry 'bout it, Prowler, Annie. I'll get 'im for ya."

"Thanks, Jazz!" Annabelle said, all smiles again.

"Anythin' for my best lady." Jazz said gallantly, tightening the headlock he had on Sideswipe.

"Lemme go! Jazz…!"

"No rough-housing on the communication deck." Prowl told them both firmly. "Sideswipe, clean up this mess and then report to Red Alert for an additional duty shift. If you have time to plan pranks, you might as well be productive." Ignoring Sideswipe's protests, he nodded at Jazz and then Hound, who had been scheduled for comm. duty and was watching the proceedings with barely concealed amusement. He turned to leave the room, and Jazz hurriedly let go of Sideswipe to follow after.

"Hey, hold up. Where ya off to?"

"The human dormitories." Prowl replied. "Annabelle will need a change of clothes before she catches a respiratory infection." As if to prove that, Annabelle sneezed.

"I'll come with." Jazz offered cheerfully.

"If you would like." Prowl allowed.


	2. Impossibility

From the moment he'd met him, Jazz had always been drawn to Prowl.

It might've been because they seemed to be such polar opposites. Oh, the others might complain from time to time that he was boring; a logic-driven stiff with no sense of fun. But Jazz could see. Prowl was always so calm, so sure, nothing ever seemed to get under that pretty plating. And that, more than any physical beauty (and, say what you want, but even Prowl's harshest critics had to admit that he really was gorgeous; all clean lines and smooth curves and a paintjob that complemented his frame just  _so_ ) had captured Jazz's interest from the start. And so he had watched.

He had assumed that, like his previous brief flares of infatuation, it would pass. Prowl would eventually grow tired and stale to him, and he could move on to newer and better bots. Except, and here was the real kicker, it  _didn't_  just pass by after a vorn or two. Somehow, some way, that infatuation seemed to grow in to an obsession. There were so many hidden facets to Prowl it was staggering. And Jazz, like a starving mech suddenly presented with unlimited energon for the first time in his life, couldn't get enough. He wanted to  _know_. Prowl's expression changed just _so_  when he was concentrating, and his optics lightened  _thus_  when he was content, and Jazz suddenly needed to see each and every emotion that Prowl could portray, every little detail that everyone else seemed to miss.

It really was kind of annoying. And Prowl, damn him, always seemed to be so unflappable, almost  _unemotional_. And that wouldn't do at all. So Jazz started coming up with ways to  _make_  him emotional. Every prank, every innocent-seeming word, all designed to drag the least smile, the most miniscule flash of optics, whether amused or annoyed. But always, always careful not to seem too interested. Always careful to hide the fact that Jazz was completely, utterly head-over-heels for his partner and friend. Because while it might be true that he was, there was no point in Prowl knowing. That might ruin the game.

And, a small part of him whispered, despite all his confidence and bravado, deep down he might, possibly, be just slightly worried that a wrong word or a too-strong emotion might shatter the friendship that had formed between them. And Jazz was in too deep. The idea of losing Prowl – his beautiful, aggravating, amazing Prowl – was not to be contemplated.

Jazz was content to watch and admire from afar, and needle and tease while up close. After so long, it hardly seemed like he could do anything else. He wasn't really certain he knew  _how_  anymore.

 

* * *

 

After they had dropped Annabelle off with a few of the soldiers in the dormitories, Prowl and Jazz wandered out in to the bright afternoon sunshine. Downtime was something to be savored, and it was a minor miracle that Prowl wasn't actually working during his. So Jazz simply enjoyed his company and the way the heat of the small yellow star that was the center of this solar system felt against his silver plating. They spoke of random things; bots they had known and bots they knew now, antics of their comrades around the base, human and Autobot alike. After a time, Prowl shot Jazz a sidelong glance.

"Mikaela told me a curious thing." Prowl said, in the kind of offhand tone that immediately had Jazz wondering if he ought to be running for the hills. He briefly flitted through a few dozen events that might have set off this tone, but couldn't think of anything recent, much less anything Mikaela would know about.

"Really." Jazz replied, careful to keep his voice casual and light. "What kinda curious thing?"

"Well," Prowl said, "it seems that human courtship rituals can be rather…odd."

Jazz felt himself relaxing marginally. "Hey now, Prowler," he teased, "just 'cause the humans tend to scramble your logic circuits don't mean you got any cause to call them odd."

Prowl smiled, so faintly one might not see it if they didn't know how to look. Jazz knew. He'd been looking for a long time. "They might, at that," Prowl admitted, "but Mikaela herself found it odd. Apparently many human females do."

"So what is this 'odd human courtship ritual'?" Jazz asked.

"It seems that young human males often have difficulty expressing their interest in prospective mates." Prowl said. "A defect in their thinking processes, perhaps."

Jazz laughed. "Well now, that's pretty harsh."

"Perhaps." Prowl agreed, tilting his helm to the side. "But those were Mikaela's words. In any case, young males will often aggravate those they are interested in to the point of distraction, simply because they cannot think of any other way to gain their attraction." He gave Jazz a quick, piercing look before it faded in to casual affability just as quickly.

Jazz stalled briefly, but forced his stance in to one of forced casualness. One might not have even seen that quick horror-filled pause, if one didn't know how to look. (Prowl knew. He'd been looking for a long time.) "Really." He said, and he was proud that his voice still remained as cool and casual as always. "Seems kinda counter-productive t' me."

Prowl nodded, the barely-there smile on his lip plates once more. "Yes, to me as well. One would think," –and his tone almost seemed to become pointed, Jazz thought somewhat hysterically, but that couldn't be right because this was Prowl who was intelligent and smooth and unruffled and he could make astounding leaps of logic on the field but when it came to the spark he was, well, pretty dumb, and Jazz didn't mind that, really, and oh Primus was he channeling Bluestreak? He  _never_  babbled. And Prowl was still speaking— "that perhaps if one felt such stirrings one would think to make them understood by speaking clearly of those feelings, rather than, as the humans say, 'beating around the bush'."

"You'd think." Jazz agreed quickly. Prowl's smile sharpened in to something almost wicked. But that couldn't be right because this was  _Prowl_  and he would not start prattling again, Jazz decided, he  _wouldn't_. Because he was Jazz and the Jazz-man did not  _prattle_ , or babble, or dither, or any of those other ridiculous words. Even in his processor, when Prowl's smile was doing strange things to his logic circuits.

"Well," Prowl said, (and his voice suddenly dropped a full octave, and oh  _Primus_  Jazz just wanted to jump him right then and there, slam him against the wall and  _feel_  that voice against his plating, smooth and low like Tower vintage high grade) "Mikaela did say that boys are rather," he tilted his head at Jazz, his optics guileless, " _immature_." The emphasis on that word was unmistakable. Jazz bit back a whimper. "On this planet, at least." Prowl finished, the smile abruptly almost gentle and certainly innocent.

"Ain't that somethin'." Jazz said, smiling widely and trying not to think too hard about what that voice and that smile were doing to his processors. "Well," he said, "as fun as it is chattin' with you Prowler, I gotta run."

"So soon?" Prowl asked, his optics wide. "I hope there isn't anything wrong."

"Oh no, nothing," his voice hitched slightly, and Jazz forced it back to normalcy, "nothin'  _wrong_. Just remembered I promised 'Siders somethin'.

"Sideswipe will likely be quite busy with Red Alert for the next while."

"Yeah," Jazz said, edging away, "so I gotta. Go do the thing now. While he's busy!"

"I see."

"See ya Prowler!"

As Jazz made a hasty escape in to the base, Prowl watched him go thoughtfully. Perhaps this would take a bit of doing.

Of course, that wasn't  _too_  much of a problem. Jazz had been aggravating Prowl for vorns. If Prowl was a vindictive mech, he might feel it to be somewhat satisfying to get some of his own back. But of course, such thoughts would never cross his processor.

It was, perhaps, a good thing that no one was around just then. Anyone who had seen the brief look of almost devious  _glee_  that crossed his face plates would likely have turned around and found some place deep and dark to hide in until the universe started making sense again. Particularly when Prowl started to quietly  _hum_.

 

* * *

 

Jazz slowed down from his brisk walk as soon as he was sure he'd put enough space between himself and the surreal situation he still wasn't entirely certain he knew what to make of, and the mech who caused it.

 _Prowl. The was Prowl, right? Straight-laced, Mr. Calm and Collected nothin' and no one ruffles me Prowl? 'Cause. I coulda sworn another bot took over his frame right there._

Well, okay. He was still calm and collected. And he wasn't really ruffled. Really, about the only thing that seemed different was that weird  _knowing_ look that he seemed to have gained.

Jazz felt his engine stall.  _He couldn't have found out, could he?_

Jazz liked Prowl. (If, by like, one meant 'would quite possibly follow him to the end of the Universe and back again, and maybe through a few hundred light years of highly corrosive material just to see a smile'. But really, it wasn't like he obsessed over him. Much.) He was perfectly okay with this. He had been perfectly okay with this for hundreds of vorns. He didn't really see that changing. It was one of the few constants in his life, and Jazz liked that. Optimus would do something heroically (and stupidly) self-sacrificing given half a chance, Ratchet would indulge in a fit of histrionics over the stupidity of his patients in his med bay given even a sliver of a chance, and Jazz would do something possibly stupid and sure as pit amusing because he liked Prowl (and the bit of attention Prowl gave him) with just the slightest encouragement (and often without any encouragement at all). It was something you could rely on.

Prowl possibly liked Jazz? That was a statistical impossibility. Prowl just didn't like Jazz. Not like  _that_. Prowl tolerated Jazz. Jazz occasionally (hopefully) intrigued Prowl. Prowl considered him a friend and that was the end of the story.

Prowl didn't like Jazz in the way a lover would. They were just too different. Nothing could change that. (Jazz never really seemed to consider the fact that he was the other side of the equation, and he liked Prowl just fine, differences and all. But then bots, just like humans, can be remarkably stupid when it comes to things like that. It is, perhaps, a universal constant. People, no matter what their biological make-up, really are the same deep down.) So really, Jazz had been overreacting. Even if, by some tiny chance, Prowl had possibly gained sudden insight to the idea that Jazz might feel slightly attracted to him, Prowl wouldn't actually  _do_  anything about it. Probably. There'd be no logical reason to, after all.

 _I mean really_ , _it's not like anything has changed. He's still Prowl; still the same tight-aft he's always been and always will be._  As he put some more distance between them, he nodded to himself.  _And besides,_  he decided firmly,  _I was probably just imagining things. No way Prowler would just up and clue in over all this time. No way he'd suddenly turn all sexy-like alluva sudden. 'S not his style._

He paused.  _Even if it_ was _ten kinds of sexy. Never saw him like_ that _before…_

 _Imaginin' things, Jazz-man. Now let's find some suitably cool way to explain off th' nervous run out on Prowl._  He paused in his thoughts.  _Maybe he'll forget about it if I don't say anythin' about it._

Well. One could hope, he supposed.

 _Better come up with somethin' good._  He decided gloomily.

 

* * *

 

"And what do you do if a boy is harassing you?"

"Punch him in the stomach and scream real loud." Annabelle replied without missing a beat.

Mikaela paused in the threshold to the dormitories. "…does Sarah know you're teaching her daughter questionable habits, Graham?"

The British agent looked up with a guilty start, which quickly shifted to injured innocence. "Questionable habits? Me?" He said, and shook his head. "Why would you even think that?"

Annabelle smiled up at Mikaela. "He's teaching me self-defense!"

"Right." Mikaela said with a raised eyebrow. "I seem to remember your mom having a conversation with Ironhide about self-defense. It wasn't a very a nice conversation."

"Mom never lets me do  _anything_  fun."

"So," Mikaela said to Graham, her lips quirked in a smirk, "you got a plan for dealing with dragon-mama?"

Graham grinned at her. "Annie," he said, "how  _did_  you learn to do that?"

"T.V." Annabelle replied cheerfully.

"And who was letting you watch dangerous shows on the telly?" He asked.

"Sideswipe." The little blonde was smiling angelically, and Mikaela laughed outright, shaking her head.

"You are terrible." She said wryly, ruffling Annabelle's hair. "Both of you."

Annabelle beamed at her, and Graham executed a little bow, doffing an invisible hat. "Thank you, my lady." He replied cheekily. She swatted at him in response, and he dodged to the side, laughing.


	3. A Sticky Situation

Humming absently to himself, Jazz slid in to the wash racks. He'd spent much of the day out running recon with Bumblebee away from the base, and the dust from the roads had been nearly thick enough to choke his engine. Bumblebee had been just as dusty, but mentioned something about finding Sam and Mikaela first. Jazz had briefly considered going with to beg a wash (as Bumblebee undoubtedly had in mind) but decided not to burden them. Bumblebee was dirty enough that it would be ages before they had a chance to do him, and he wanted to be clean  _now_.

It was strange having the facilities to himself. Usually there was at least one or two other bots in at the same time, but the other teams sent out hadn't reported in yet and Jazz really didn't feel like waiting for them. He could get clean enough on his own, even if it  _was_  nice having someone else to scrub his back struts. Without paying too much attention, Jazz palmed the sensor to start the water running. He reached for the cleanser as the water started to sluice down and then paused, frowning. The water was…green? And sticky. He quickly backed away from the showerhead, looking up for the source.

And that's when the ceiling opened up.

 

* * *

 

A very sticky and unhappy Jazz stumbled out from the wash racks, sputtering and dripping globs of something green and wiggly.

"Whoa," Sam exclaimed, stepping back a few paces with his hands up, "what happened to you?"

Mikaela ran a finger down a portion of Jazz's leg armor and brought it to her mouth. "Lime." She announced thoughtfully, licking her finger. "Looks like you've been Jell-o'd, Jazz."

"Y' can help me clean up." Jazz suggested, leering at her. Mikaela laughed.

"Hey mech, hands off. She's  _my_  girl." Sam said in mock affront. Jazz just grinned at him, his customary good humor quickly restored.

"What, your mama never taught ya t' share?" He taunted. "Thought you two would be wit' 'Bee already."

"We were just getting cleaning supplies," Mikaela explained, still smiling. "How did you end up covered in Jell-o anyways?"

"Funny story, that…" Jazz drawled.

"I thought all the pranksters were on patrol duty and missions today." Sam said thoughtfully.

"We were," Sideswipe said from behind the group. He let out a low, impressed whistle at the green splattered scene. "Hey Jazz," Sideswipe said. "What happened to you?"

"Wash racks malfunction," Jazz replied cheerfully. "'s called 'Jell-o'. Humans like the stuff. Wanna taste?"

"Pass," Sideswipe replied, snickering.

"That's disgusting." Sunstreaker said, eyeing the wiggling foodstuff with undisguised revulsion.

"Wasn't 'xactly my idea." Jazz cocked an optic ridge at Sideswipe curiously.

"Hey, wasn't  _me_ ," the known prankster protested, his hands up in denial. "I've been on patrol all day with Sunny."

"Sunstreaker," the golden twin corrected almost absently, attention still riveted to Jazz's frame. "You really need to clean that off," he said critically. "Who knows what it'll do to your finish."

"You offerin' t' help?"

Sunstreaker took a few hasty steps back. "No way." He said flatly.

"Yeah, wouldn't want to ruin your perfect paintjob." Sideswipe taunted. "I'll help you out." He offered Jazz a suggestive smirk, one hand hovering over the saboteur's jell-o splattered arm. Jazz grinned back easily, but was interrupted before he had a chance to reply.

"You still need to make your report to Prime, Sideswipe." Prowl said calmly from behind him, regarding the silver mech and his twin with a steady gaze.

"Aw, c'mon Prowl, have a spark." Sideswipe whined. Sunstreaker snorted.

"Let's go, afthead." He said, shoving his brother towards the command deck. "I want to get this over with so I can find a  _working_  set of wash racks."

"There is something wrong with the wash racks?" Prowl asked politely.

"Not if you're lookin' for somethin' sweet!" Jazz said cheerfully enough. "Like m' new duds?" He twirled for Prowl to show off the slimy streaks of green covering his chassis.

"Interesting," Prowl said neutrally. "Sideswipe?"

"Aren't you off-duty right now?" Sideswipe asked Prowl. Prowl just Looked at him, and Sideswipe sighed dramatically. "I'm going, I'm going." Sideswipe muttered something similar to 'slave driver' and trooped off with his brother.

"I don't suppose you have any idea of who the culprit might be," Prowl asked Jazz as he took in the mess of green all over both mech and floor. Jazz hesitated a brief second before smiling easily.

"'Fraid not." He admitted. "All the regulars have alibis. An' I've been off base most o' the day."

"Honestly Jazz, you must be getting rusty." Mikaela teased. "Aren't you supposed to be a  _saboteur_?"

"Hey, now" Jazz replied, not once losing his confident grin, "even th' best have an off day."

"Let us hope that doesn't extend to official missions." Prowl said dryly.

"Nah, I've been had once, 'm good now." Jazz replied with a cheeky smile. Sam and Mikaela laughed outright at that, but Prowl simply regarded Jazz with an even expression. Jazz had the fleeting idea to 'accidentally' bump in to Prowl in an attempt to get him to wash up with him when little Annabelle rounded the corner in a trot.

Annabelle took in the jell-o splattered Jazz with wide blue eyes. Then she frowned, her hands on her hips in a move eerily similar to another blonde Lennox. "You shouldn't play with your food, Jazz." She scolded, her young voice almost perfectly capturing her mother at her worst. "There's starvin' kids in Af-er-ka!"

"Come on," Mikaela said, her voice full of laughter as she shook her head. "Sam and I'll give you a proper wash. I think you need it more than 'Bee right now."

"I'll help too!" Annabelle offered enthusiastically.

"Go on," Prowl told Jazz, his attention on the sticky mess on the floor, "I'll have this taken care of."

"Thanks, Prowler." Jazz said with some relief, squashing his brief disappointment as he moved to follow the three humans. Prowl likely wouldn't have agreed to his idea anyways, he consoled himself. Especially with a culprit to catch.

 

* * *

 

Prowl watched as the foursome trooped out of sight and then turned to regard the mess with a solemn expression. Wordlessly, he pulled out his pre-prepared rag and cleaning solution that he had been assured would clean the most stubborn of gelatin. He had just settled in to get to work when he received a ping over his comm. ::Prowl here.::

::Prowl, I realize you're off-duty right now, but something has come up. Could you please report to my office?:: Optimus' voice was apologetic, but Prowl could hear the order clearly.

::Yes, sir,:: Prowl replied. He looked at the mess and winced. ::Sir, the wash racks…::

::They can wait.:: Optimus said firmly. ::Block off the hall for now. This matter won't take long.::

::Yes, sir. I'll be right there.::

 

* * *

 

"You're  _covered_  in this stuff, Jazz." Mikaela commented, wrinkling her nose.

"What, s'not a good look for me?" Jazz replied, adopting a hurt tone. Mikaela whipped her rag at him in response.

"I wonder who could have done it," Sam said idly as he hosed the Solstice down with cold water. "Everyone was pretty tied up today. I think even Prowl will have a hard time finding the culprit."

"Mm," Mikaela agreed, but her expression was thoughtful. "Well," she said cheerfully, "I'm sure if  _anyone_  can, it's Prowl."

Jazz laughed. "Ain't that the truth. Hey, watch where y' spray!" Sam, whose attention had been wandering, jerked the nozzle back on target. As Mikaela began to gently tease Sam for his inattention, Jazz turned his processor back to the problem of just who was to blame for today's mess. But Sam was right; everyone who would've had the slightest inclination towards pranks had some sort of alibi for today. Really, the only one with the time and know-how would have to be…but no, he  _wouldn't_  have. Prowl had better things to do than plan random pranks. In fact,  _Prowl_  and _prank_  didn't even belong in the same sentence. Jazz wondered briefly if it was possible for gelatin to damage logic circuits. There had to be _something_  wrong with his processor if he was even entertaining the thought. But even still, he couldn't help but wonder…

Well, there was no help for it  _now._  More information would come to light soon enough; he just had to be patient. 'Bee was certainly patient enough, but that was the yellow Camaro all over. When Jazz had pulled in, completely covered in green goo, he had cheerfully deferred his own wash in favor of letting the humans start on Jazz. And Jazz, despite his outward easy-going acceptance of his current state of disarray, was very grateful. He might make light of being covered in organic goo, but the stuff really wasn't all that pleasant. And it would be worse given a chance to dry, he was sure.

Mikaela and Sam, well versed in the art of washing Autobots, were as competent as any professional attendants. And Annabelle for all her size was nearly as capable, diligently scrubbing wheel wells while her elders took care of areas she couldn't reach. And if the water often fell on human skin as well as cybertronian metal, well, it was a hot day and the splashing made the job more fun. Bumblebee even got in on the action, transforming to root mode and stealing Sam's hose to give all four a thorough drenching. Jazz shook with laughter as their human companions screeched, the sound somewhere between outrage and laughter.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe showed up soon after, both loudly demanding washes as well if the humans were going to be giving them out. Annabelle pounced on Sideswipe with a sopping wet sponge, attempting to tickle his undercarriage with her furious attack. Sideswipe obliged her with laughter, and Jazz had the feeling it wasn't all pretend. Certain parts of  _his_ undercarriage could be quite sensitive, and little Annabelle had very clever fingers. Then Sam, lifting a pail of dirty water that needed to be changed, tripped and dumped it over Sunstreaker's hood.

All was quiet for a bare minute as the assembled cast of humans (and bots) held their collective breath (and intakes). Sunstreaker then said, very quietly, that someone had better clean that off  _right now_.

Mikaela turned her hose on him, drenching him completely. Sideswipe howled with laughter, which prompted the woman to turn her makeshift weapon on  _him_.

The splashing and laughter quickly drew curious onlookers, and soon what seemed like half the base's population had converged on the impromptu car wash turned water fight.

Bumblebee started blaring Christina Aguilera's 'Car Wash' from his speakers, despite Sam's loud protestations. It didn't help much when Epps and Graham started singing along.  _Especially_  as they didn't seem to know all the words, but were perfectly content making new ones up.

When a mud-splattered Hound and Mirage showed up (one quite cheerful about the whole thing, and the other quite  _not_ ), it quickly turned in to a free-for-all.

 

* * *

 

The matter in question that required Prowl regarded some intel that the Corvette twins had brought back, and took nearly an hour. Prowl returned to the hallway, pleased to find it untouched. He was less pleased to find that much of the liquid Jell-o had set in to the floor. The solid stuff from the ceiling trap was easy enough to clean, but the sticky liquid that had sprayed from the showerhead clung to the cement with a vengeance. On his knees, Prowl settled in to scrub.

Jazz, his plating gleaming from his recent wash, found him like that not too long after. The silver mech nearly stalled, and he rebooted his optics several times. "Prowler?"

Prowl glanced up briefly, startled, before turning his attention back to the stained cement. "Jazz," he greeted with his customary aplomb. "The wash racks aren't in service quite yet, but I don't think you have need of them anymore."

"Nah," Jazz replied, "The kids did a pretty good job on me."

"Samuel and Mikaela have not been children by their species' standards for several solar cycles now." Prowl noted. Jazz grinned at him.

"Yeah, but they'll always be 'th' kids' to me." He replied cheerfully. "Whatcha down there for? I thought you were gonna 'have that taken care of', not do it yourself."

"As you know," Prowl said calmly, his optics firmly on the task at hand, "we do not currently have a culprit. It would be unfair to assign the task to a bot who is blameless. Unless, of course, you have information or suspicions you have neglected to share?" He finally looked up at Jazz with an optic ridge raised inquiringly.

Jazz firmly suppressed the preposterous suspicions floating in his mind. "Nope, none." He replied glibly, and he half believed it himself. Prowl nodded shortly and turned his attention back to his task. "But, y'still don't have to do it yourself." Jazz pointed out.

"The cleaning staff has enough to do already," Prowl replied, "and I have some time."

"Huh." Jazz mulled that over for a moment, and then plopped down beside Prowl. "Got an extra one o' those?"

"Your help is appreciated, but unnecessary."

"Hey, s' kinda my mess too." Jazz pointed out. "I was the one th' prank was aimed at, after all."

"Jazz, it's fine." Prowl said without looking up. "You were the victim; you should hardly feel responsible."

"Yeah," Jazz agreed, "but I got some time." He flashed Prowl a grin. "Lemme help y' out."

Prowl finally looked up, his expression considering. Then he smiled. It was a small smile, barely there at all, but it still made Jazz's spark sing. "Very well," Prowl said, offering the silver mech a clean rag. Jazz took it with a flourish and settled in to work. "Thank you," Prowl said quietly.

Jazz grinned at him, bumping his shoulder against the larger bot companionably. "Hey, no prob." He said cheerfully. "What're friends for?"

"Hm." Prowl said, that tiny smile still hovering over his lip plates.

 

* * *

 

"You have only just got clean," Prowl pointed out reasonably a few minutes later. Jazz paused to tilt his helm at the tactician curiously. "Helping me will inevitably result in mucking up your plating again."

"Well," Jazz said, his visor lighting up with mischief, "we'll just have t' make sure t' take a spin through the repaired wash racks." He paused, grinning. "Tell ya what: you scrub my back struts an' I'll do yours."

Prowl regarded him silently for a long moment before nodding briefly. "That seems acceptable." He said to Jazz's obvious delight.

 

* * *

 

"It's a shame the camera near the wash racks glitched this afternoon," Red Alert said, his tone suffused with mock-sadness. "Now we may never discover just who executed that horrible prank on Jazz."

"Yes, it certainly is terrible." Optimus agreed with a perfectly straight face. "Good of Prowl to take on the cleaning himself."

"He is quite thoughtful. We're lucky to have such a responsible officer."

The two regarded each other soberly for a long moment. Then Optimus' lip components twitched and the moment was ruined. Red Alert chuckled ruefully and Optimus full-out laughed.

"How long do you think it'll take?" Red Alert asked once his commander had calmed himself.

"I have the utmost faith in Prowl," Optimus said serenely. "It'll all be settled within the week."

Red Alert made a rude noise. "Two days." He countered. "Prowl is very persistent." He paused. "And Jazz isn't  _that_  dense." Optimus promptly started laughing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The author does not in any way condone the use of Jell-o in shower stalls. Remember kids, do not try this at home. (Or at least, don't mention my name. But send me pictures! I MEAN NO. DON'T DO IT. REALLY.)


	4. Playground Logic

Patience had always been his strong suit. While others panicked or became overly eager and hurried in to hastily made plans that backfired as often as they succeeded, he was an oasis of calm. Always in control, always with several backup tactics in case the first went awry, he was never one to rush in to things. He could win a long, drawn-out campaign with the steady surety that the situation would turn favorable with time and patience. Nothing could shake him.

But suddenly, it wasn't enough. A drawn out battle on  _this_ field was simply unpalatable.

Simple companionship had always seemed to be sufficient. But now, with something  _more_  on the horizon, he found that he had grown hungry for more substantial fare without realizing it. He wanted to reach out and grasp it, now; something tangible in his hands that he could hold against that empty space in his spark that he hadn't even noticed until one too-young voice had brought it to his attention with her overly wise innocence.

And now he wouldn't – couldn't – stand by and wait for his careful plans to possibly come in to fruition several vorns in to the future. The young species of this planet seemed to have infected him with their impatience and constant chorus of  _hurry, hurry, hurry,_ because what they had today might not last past tomorrow, and wouldn't it be better to grab now, while there was still time, still a future? And while his processors insisted that such talk was quite probably just hysteria and that discretion was always the better part of valor, his spark leapt forward and joined that chorus full-voiced:  _hurry, hurry, hurry, it's been too long already_.

And so he had set his trap, and the bait was taken, and suddenly the future was hurdling towards him quicker than ever and yet still couldn't come fast enough.

 _Hurry, hurry, hurry._

 _  
_

__

* * *

"You know, if you like him  _that_  much, you should just tell him."

It was just after lunch and the main hanger was full, with both Autobots and humans alike taking a few spare moments to catch up on gossip before heading back to their various tasks. But at that moment there was nothing but silence as everyone in the room turned to regard Annabelle. The little girl had her arms folded over her chest and was giving Sideswipe a stern glare. "'Hide won't bite." She added helpfully.

"Uh, sparklet?" Sideswipe said, his entire tone stating that no, he wasn't really certain what was going on, and no, he probably wouldn't like it, but it might be worse to let it stand. Might. "What are you talking about?"

"It's okay." Annabelle said seriously. "Hide seems big and scary sometimes, but he's really nice. He won't get mad at you if you just  _tell_  him you like him. But people don't like it when you act weird." Sunstreaker made a noise that might have been a cross between a laugh and a snort and was barely holding on to his passive expression. Annabelle transferred her glare to him. "You too, Sunstreaker.  _You're_  almost as bad."

Sunstreaker sputtered as Sideswipe regained enough equilibrium to start snickering. "Wha…why you little  _glitch_ …!" Sunstreaker managed in a tone somewhere between horrified and incensed. Annabelle prudently took a step backwards and raised her chin, her expression mulish.

"…Annabelle," Ironhide said, with obvious effort at reining in his infamous temper, "where did you learn that?"

"Mikaela told me." She chirped, her frown readily melting away. She gave Ironhide a sympathetic look. "It's okay, 'Hide, she had lots of problems with boys, too."

Mikaela chose that moment to wander in to the rec room, Sam at her side. "Hey guys," Sam said cheerfully, "what's up?" The room was silent for a long, drawn-out moment. The smile slowly slipped off of Sam's face. "Uh...guys?"

Mudflap looked at Skids. With an enormous grin on his faceplate, he started to chant: "Ironhide and Sideswipe, sittin' in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

"Ew, bro, don't go there. My processor hurts. Old bots! Naaaasty."

"Hey!" Sideswipe said, indignant, "who are you calling  _old?_ "

"You," Ironhide growled at the bewildered Mikaela, "stop putting weird ideas in to the kid's head."

Lennox was snickering helplessly from a nearby couch. Annabelle padded up to him, her socks sliding over the grey cement floor. She prodded him in the side, concerned. "Daddy? Daddy, are you okay?" Lennox waved her off, unable to reply. The little blonde sighed deeply and gave Mikaela an expression of long suffering. "Boys really  _are_ stupid. Even the bigger ones that should know better." She announced. She shot the (somewhat) quietly sniggering Autobots a dirty look. "Robot boys, too." Mikaela smiled sympathetically.

"It's a universal concept, sweetie."

The rest of the room erupted in to full-out laughter.

 

* * *

 

Jazz was starting to feel rather paranoid. It was unsettling, to say the least. The prank yesterday  _still_  had him on edge; he kept expecting something else to drop from the ceiling. But more than that, Prowl was still acting somewhat off. His calculating glances were almost unnerving, and Jazz had found flimsy excuses to be elsewhere more than once. For some reason, the other bots seemed to find this absolutely hysterical. Jazz was almost afraid to ask.

And that's why he was hiding out with Annabelle in his quarters.

"It's okay," Annabelle told him seriously as he locked the door, " _I'll_  protect you, Jazz."

"Heh. Thanks, Annie. But you're headed home tomorrow, right?" He carefully set her down on his berth. She scooted away as Jazz sat down beside her, and then clambered up on to his lap, her jeans sliding against his smooth metal with a soft  _snick_.

"Yeah. We have Monday off so I don't have school until Tuesday." Annabelle frowned. "I wish I could go to school here," she said. "I bet I'd learn lots more than at the school back home."

Jazz laughed. "Yeah, I wish you could, too. But I think your mama would blow a fuse, an' the teachers at your school wouldn't like it much either. We'll just have to teach you lots during the summer so you don't miss out."

Annabelle pulled a face. "Summer is  _ages_  from now."

"Just a few more months, bitlet." She continued to pout so Jazz decided to move her on to another track. "In the meantime, maybe you can help me figure out who dumped dessert on me yesterday."

The effect was instantaneous: the sulking blonde eight-year old did a complete one-eighty, suddenly all smiles and eager-puppy as she considered the important problem placed before her to solve. "Who do you think did it?" She asked. Jazz hummed reflectively.

"Got a few ideas, but…can't think why they'd alluva sudden start this type 'o thing."

Annabelle considered that, her small mouth twisted to the side in thought and her blue eyes intent. "Maybe somebody likes you." she said unexpectedly. Jazz regarded her with some surprise.

"What makes you think that, bitlet?"

"Mikaela told us when she was in school, one of the boys made a mess with jell-o on her desk," Annabelle explained. "She said it's 'cause he was trying to get her attention." She giggled then. "Prowl said it was coun—cowner—" her faced screwed up as she tried to remember the unfamiliar word "cowner-duckive!" She beamed up at the bemused solstice.

"Did he now." Jazz said thoughtfully. "Well, ain't that somethin'."

"He was  _really_  interested." Annabelle confided.

"Huh." Jazz mused over that for a few moments. Then he grinned. "So, what else did they say?"

 

* * *

 

He found Prowl outside. He was tucked away in a partially concealed area; one could look out across the ocean from the relative safety of a bit of roof jutting out past the building without worrying about satellites overhead catching a glimpse of something they shouldn't see. Better safe than dead, as Red Alert often sanctimoniously said. The humans had a similar saying, but Jazz liked Red's better.

The day was winding down to a close, with the bright yellow sun – now deepening to orange in the evening sky – just a bare few fingertips above the watery horizon. Jazz came up beside the seated mech on cat-quiet pedes, but, as always, Prowl seemed to know he was there without even looking. Prowl shifted over, inviting Jazz to join him with a wordless gesture. They sat together as the sun slowly sank towards the ocean.

"You know," Jazz said casually in to the silence, "we never did find out just who pranked me."

"I suppose not," Prowl replied. "Did you have any thoughts on it?"

"Well…lessee. The usuals were all on duty."

"Yes, we've established that." Prowl allowed a slight, nearly non-existent rueful smile. "I had hoped for a slightly  _quieter_  day on base due to that fact, but I suppose that was expecting too much."

Jazz snorted. "Never tempt Murphy's Law, as the kids say." He said cheerfully. Prowl nodded in acknowledgement. Jazz tilted his helm curiously, not to be drawn off the scent by Prowl's seeming innocence. "And as for the unusuals…it's funny, but I think  _you_  were the only one off duty and at the base for the time it coulda happened. Red's security tape was glitched for only a short time. And it couldn't've been him, 'cause me and Bee were chattin' with him over the comm. during that time."

"He could have been away from his desk," Prowl pointed out. Jazz chuckled, shaking his head.

"Nah. He was on duty. If Red voluntarily left his station while on duty for a prank, I'd start lookin' for the possibility of a hijacked processor. It  _was_ awfully convenient that the data tracks happened t' short out for just that timeframe, though."

"You think he might be a possible conspirator."

"Maaaybe." Jazz was still grinning affably. "Or coulda just been a coincidence. No real way of knowing, since Red coulda easily sabotaged the tape without any evidence."

"That's true," Prowl agreed. They were silent for a few moments before Jazz shifted so that he was facing Prowl, straddling their shared cement block with a determined glint in his visor.

"You know what I think? I think  _you_  planted that Jell-o in th' stalls." Jazz poked Prowl's chest plate, hard, and Prowl regarded him in mild surprise. "I think that's why you were so keen on cleaning it up yourself. And why all the usual suspects just happened t' be away from base – so that they wouldn't get blamed for somethin' you did."

"Do you have any proof?"

Jazz shot Prowl a quick look and then started to laugh. "Nope!" He said merrily. "Guess we'll never know, huh?"

"It seems that way," Prowl agreed pleasantly. "I don't suppose you have a reason for this particular line of inquiry, despite your lack of anything remotely resembling proof of my supposed wrong-doing?"

"Been talkin' to Annie," Jazz said. "An' she said she'd been talking to  _you_."

"We do converse on occasion."

"Heh. Well, she was talking 'bout kids at her school an' some boy trouble she's been having. Said 'Kaela told her a few things about human boys, and that you mighta been a bit interested in the whole thing."

"Mikaela often brings up fascinating points." Prowl agreed. "She's a very intelligent young woman." He regarded Jazz with a steady expression. "You still haven't mentioned what this has to do with our previous conversation."

"I kinda like you," Jazz said bluntly, and then paused. "Slag that, I kinda like you a lot. Have for a long time."

"I see." Prowl said neutrally. "And what made you decide to speak of it now?"

"Well, I might be completely off, but I get the feeling that you maybe kinda like me back."

"It's entirely possible." Prowl allowed. "You are not a  _completely_  unlikable mech, after all."

Jazz shook his helm. "Y'know," he said, smiling, "any other bot would think yer not interested and get pretty discouraged about now."

Prowl arched an optic ridge at the smaller mech. "But you are not just 'any other bot', are you?" Jazz chuckled and reached up to hook his claws in to the ridge above Prowl's chest plates.

"Nope," he agreed, pulling the other close, "and I wouldn't have you any other way."

 

* * *

 

"It's strange," Prowl said slowly sometime later, amusement lighting his optics, "but I think I  _do_  see some sort of logic to this courtship method of the human children."

The deep pink and gold bands of the sunset were slowly fading in to dusk above the island base, and glittering stars shyly started to brighten across the night-dark sky. But all Jazz could see were the last vestiges of scattered sunlight glinting off of polished black and white cybertronian metal and blue optics brilliant enough to rival the now-hidden sun. Then the sense of Prowl's words sunk in and he grinned. "What, like playground logic? Trust you t' find it, Prowler."


	5. Epilogue

It didn't take long for the news to spread. Even if they could keep a solid front of confidentiality to the outside public, within their ranks, both men and bots were horrible gossips. (And even if Prowl was being his usual stoic self, Jazz had never been what one would consider discreet. And really, it was easy enough to see simply from the sheer smugness he radiated, never mind the random displays of public affection.)

 

* * *

 

"You'd think he'd taken down an entire Decepticon regiment alone, the way he's been strutting around," Jolt commented.

"Well," Epps said, "it  _is_  Prowl that's letting him sprawl all over him right now." And he gestured towards the two bots on the other side of the room. Prowl was seated neatly on the large transformer-sized couch, to all appearances focused entirely on the data pad in his hands. And Jazz was, indeed, sprawled across his lap, his legs kicking off the side of the couch and his chin draped over Prowl's shoulder, content as a cat in the cream. "From my experience, and the way you bots talk, that's about as difficult to manage."

Jolt chuckled in response, and, from across the room, Jazz flicked his hand in their direction, and Prowl slid a brief, possessive hand across Jazz's back struts, his expression of intent concentration over his work never faltering.

 

* * *

 

The younger members of NEST took to the news fairly predictably.

 

* * *

 

"About time," Maggie said nonchalantly. Mikaela nodded her agreement. Sam just gaped.

" _Jazz_?" he asked incredulously.

"What, is that  _wrong_ too, Sam?" Mikaela said, grinning at Maggie, who winked back. Sam blinked rapidly, two spots of color appearing high on his cheeks.

"Yeah – I mean, no – I mean… _Jazz_?"

"Huh. Wonder if I oughta be offended by that." Jazz commented.

" _Jazz?_ "

"That's m'name, don't wear it out!"

 

* * *

 

"But they're so different." Sam protested later. Mikaela shot him an unimpressed look, but hooked an arm through his.

"And we're not?"

"Um…well, yeah, you have a point, but…they're total opposites, and…" he paused, groaning, as music filled the room. "Bumblebee! Not cool,  _really_ , man!" Sam winced as Paula Abdul's voice blared from Bumblebee's speakers.

" _And you know: it ain't fiction, just a natural fact. We come together, 'cause opposites attract!"_

"We have got to get you a better music library." Sam sighed. Mikaela snickered.

 

* * *

 

And, of course, there was the inevitable betting pool.

 

* * *

 

"So, who won the pot?"

Sideswipe grinned widely. "Pay up, gentlemechs!" He crowed.

Everyone else groaned. "He's going to be absolutely unbearable for weeks." Ratchet groused as Sideswipe cackled merrily. Sunstreaker merely slapped his twin upside the helm before stalking off, muttering something about fools and luck.

 

* * *

 

Jazz, Prowl had decided, was taking far too much interest as of late in the courtship habits of young humans. Particularly those of the very young, who weren't even aware that they  _were_  courting.

 

* * *

 

"Jazz," Prowl said, half in exasperation, "I don't have 'cooties'."

"Yet." And Jazz  _leered_. "Want some o' mine?"

 

* * *

 

Sideswipe  _was_  unbearable in his glee, but the universe has a way of resettling the natural order of things.

 

* * *

 

The next time Annabelle visited, her mother was with her. "Go find your father, okay sweetie? Mom has something she needs to do."

"Sure," Annabelle replied easily, slipping free of her mother's grasp and trotting out in the direction of the human quarters.

Sarah Lennox waited until she was out of sight and took a deep breath. " _Sideswipe!_ "

Several corridors away, Sideswipe started and looked around wildly. "I didn't do it!" He insisted, wild-opticked. "Whatever it is, I didn't do it!"

Eventually, she caught him. (It didn't help that everyone in the base was more than willing to give away his position, the traitors.) "Sideswipe," Sarah began in a deadly quiet tone, "perhaps you can tell me why my eight-year-old daughter has been practicing karate moves in school?"

 

* * *

 

And life, as it inevitably does, went on as normal. (Or, as normal as it gets for  _this_  group.)

 

* * *

 

"Annie," Jazz called, "Prowl's got cooties. Can you cure him?"

They were, of course, in the rec room, and several highly interested sets of eyes and optics turned to regard them. Prowl, standing in the entrance to the room with one pede over the threshold, resisted the urge to retreat back in to the safety of the command center. "That is unnecessary," he stated, but Jazz and Annabelle affected not to hear him.

Annabelle looked over at the 'infected' mech doubtfully. "I  _think_  so," she said. "It works on boys, but Prowl's awful big." Someone snickered from off to the left, and Prowl refused to look, heading instead for the Energon dispenser to withdraw his rations. Annabelle, apparently making up her mind, trotted over to him. She tilted her head up, regarding him with determined eyes. "Give me your arm, please," she said. Prowl regarded her steadily before passing his cube to a grinning Jazz. He kneeled down so that he was closer to Annabelle's height and silently offering his arm. Annabelle reached up and hooked one hand on to his wrist guard, her index finger carefully tracing out a simple design on the smooth white plating of his arm. "Circle, circle, dot, dot, now you've got the cootie shot!" Annabelle smiled brilliantly up at Prowl. "All better!"

"Thank you," Prowl said gravely. He swept his gaze over the assembled bots and humans, most of which were grinning openly. "I think it would be best if you inoculated the room, as well," he told Annabelle, "to ensure the infection doesn't spread." The grins slowly faded around the room as his meaning sunk in.

Annabelle bounced on her feet, her blonde pigtails bobbing. "Okay," she said cheerfully, and veered towards Sunstreaker, one smudged finger outstretched. "Sunstreaker first," she announced to the golden mech's dawning horror.

Jazz snickered and reached out to snag Prowl in an embrace, but Prowl neatly sidestepped him. "Not until you have been cured," Prowl told him evenly. "I have no desire to catch the disease again." Jazz gaped at him even as Sunstreaker's voice rose in denial, the newly dubbed half-pint 'cootie-medic' nearly upon him.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticism are very, very welcome. (I won't melt if you're harsh, promise!)
> 
> No offense to any Prowl/Sideswipe fans, Sam just has issues. (Kind of along the lines of 'omg, my teacher/authority figure and one of my friends. DO NOT WANT.')


End file.
